


Over-analyzed

by always221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, POV John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:33:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always221b/pseuds/always221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When idle, Sherlock tends to over analyze everything. Including his flatmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over-analyzed

John Watson was on his way home from an extremely long day of runny noses and dry coughs, wanting nothing more than a hot cuppa and some crap telly. As he approached 221B, all hope for a peaceful night was thrown out the window, as he could already hear a certain consulting detective screeching on his violin through an open window.

  
“ _Should’ve known_ ,” he thought, “ _the man hasn't had a case in over a week; of course he’s going to be causing trouble_.”

  
He walked in and cautiously up the seventeen stairs to the flat, hoping to not be caught be Sherlock. These moods did nothing for John’s attitude, as he was almost sure he wouldn't be able to handle a hyperactive and insulting Sherlock Holmes on top of everything else. Regardless of how in love with the man he was, something Sherlock would never know about, sometimes he just needed to be alone.

  
John reached the landing and continued trying to creep up to his room unnoticed, when suddenly all the scratching suddenly stopped and a loud bang came from inside. John stopped abruptly and whipped around to face the closed door. The door flew open as he reached for the handle and suddenly he had an armful of sobbing genius.

  
“Good God! Sherlock! What the bloody hell is going on?” John remarked as he tried to lead Sherlock over to the couch, which was decently difficult, as he was leaned over with his face in the crook of John’s neck, tears soaking into his shirt.

John gently removed Sherlock’s arms from around his neck and pushed him onto the couch, he was beginning to get extremely nervous, as this was beyond weird behavior for the detective, whose emotions were constantly in check. Once he hit the cushions, Sherlock quickly pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and burying his tear streaked face. He suddenly looked much younger, making John’s stomach clench. He sat down beside him and reached out to brush his fingers through Sherlock’s dark curls, something he’d always wanted to do but never let himself. Sherlock continued sobbing into his knees, shaking slightly with every breath.

  
“Hey, Sherlock, what’s going on?” John inquired softly. He shuffled closer, putting his hand on Sherlock’s back, rubbing it slowly. When he didn't respond, John continued, “C’mon Sherlock, tell me what’s going on. I can help.”

  
Sherlock’s head suddenly popped up, his eyes red and puffy, tears still escaping. He looked utterly miserable, and now mildly furious.

  
“No, John, you cannot _help_.” He said the last word with a sneer. John removed his hand and stood up in front of the detective. Sherlock looked up at him as he did. As much as John loved this man, as much as he wanted to know he was okay, to at least know why he wasn’t, he knew Sherlock well enough to know that if he didn't want to talk, he wasn’t going to.

  
“Okay, then I’ll leave you to it,” John said simply and turned to go to the kitchen. He was stopped abruptly by a hand grabbing his wrist. He turned to face Sherlock again.  
“You can’t help, but please, don’t leave me,” he said to John, barely audible. John’s heart dropped to his stomach. Something was very much wrong with his friend. He turned back and sat down close to Sherlock, who quickly moved his legs and moved right next to John, wrapping his arms around him and pushing his face into his chest. John hesitated but then put his arms around the man and held on tight.

  
“Sherlock, can you at least tell me what’s wrong? You may think I can’t help but I want to be able to at least try.” John murmured. Sherlock released him and started to try to sit up, John reluctantly removed his arms.

  
Sherlock sat up, looking down at his hands, his eyes were still red but the tears were subsiding. John reached out and took one of Sherlock’s hands in his, which made Sherlock look up to him, eyes wide, then back down to their hands.

  
“C’mon Sherlock, spit it out.”

  
Sherlock took a deep, unsteady breath. “You know, of all people, John, that my mind is like a machine that I can’t turn off. With inactivity it just runs and runs, going over every single thing in my mind palace until I’ve analyzed every piece of information. Today, it seems, my mind has reached the room devoted to you, and I tried to stop it, I did, but as I analyzed the information, I became increasingly worried that you were going to leave me eventually. All the evidence points towards it. You’ll go on a date with someone you find tolerable and end up married and moving out within six months to a year. I also realized that I can’t let that happens as it seems that I’ve become, well, attached to you. Well, I say attached.” He paused, briefly glancing up before looking back down and continuing. “John, you can’t help because to be able to help you’d have to feel the same way about me, which, we both know can’t happen as you have constantly voiced your opinion of us being in a relationship that is anything but platonic. I suppose my outburst was due to the fact that I couldn't heard you coming up the stairs and it suddenly hit me that you could just stop doing that someday.”

  
Sherlock took a breath, as he had barely breathed at all while talking, and glanced up at John.

  
John’s wasn't breathing at all, it seemed his lungs had forgotten how to work. His heart was hammering and his eyes were fixed on the man in front of him. The man that ran sobbing into his arms because he was afraid he’d never simply hear his footsteps on the stairs again. The man that had obviously not realized that it’d been months since he’d been on a date because he couldn't even fake it anymore. Being out without Sherlock had become tedious and unbearable the more he fell for him. It took him a few seconds to realize that Sherlock had stopped talking and was looking at him. He met the detective quicksilver eyes, seeing the hurt and fear in them. He knew that he wasn’t going to be able to say anything, as the air still hadn't returned to his lungs. The blogger used their joint hands to pull Sherlock closer to him, he moved his other hand to the detective’s cheek and ran a thumb over his lips. Sherlock sucked in a quick breath and went rigid. John moved forward placed a small, chaste kiss on his lips, then pulled back just far enough to look Sherlock in the eyes, which were wide with surprise. “I’m not going anywhere, ya daft gift,” John whispered with a smile. Sherlock let go of John’s hand to place it on the back of his neck, the other around his waist, then leaned forward to touch their lips together again, this time something longer, something passionate. John pushed both of his hands into Sherlock’s hair and just held on.

  
When they released, both men were gasping for air. “Does this mean you no longer have objections to a romantic relationship?” Sherlock teased in his deep baritone. “Oh you great lump, just kiss me,” John replied. And he did.


End file.
